


I Can't Fly With Broken Wings

by ferowyn



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Angels, Dystopia, F/F, Hurt, Self-Sacrifice, Seraphim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 14:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5931979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Empire overruns the free lands of the Serrenía, Pye knows there is nothing left for her, not with her son lost - until she receives a note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pye

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote (most of) this some time ago... I don't really like it any more, but at the same time I'm still kind of fond of it. I've got no idea whether anyone might be interested in this, but - whatever ^^
> 
> Anyway, I left it mostly the same, so the style kind of... sucks. You have been warned.
> 
> (also, I'm kind of amazed that AO3 managed to get even the Greek letter)

Pye is staring at the message on her desk. It is still illegible for her, but she knows that will change soon enough.

For the first time that day she manages to forget about what is happening and the danger everyone is in. All her concentration is bound to the slim, shiny stone plate that appeared on her desk a few minutes ago, out of thin air. Silver glittering letters in a strange, foreign language are throwing light patterns onto the wall.

Pye runs a hand through her dark red hair in order to try and keep her fingers from shaking. She has not seen any of these messages in more than four years, but she remembers the way they work perfectly well. Along with the kind of people who send them. Or rather the one person who has ever written her _Basúka_.

For a few moments she lets herself be distracted, allows herself to think back, remember a time when Crex had still been writing to her. She has been missing the beautiful blond woman more than she has ever been ready to admit, and she also banishes all thoughts about her now.

Just like she did for the last four years whenever they would come forth.

Instead she concentrates on what getting a _Basúk_ could mean for her fate, and her son’s. Pye risks a glance out of the window and quickly looks away again.

The Empire has finally gotten their will. A few hours ago, just after nine o’clock in the morning, the Western Powers had overrun the defences on the eastern continents. The free lands of the Serrenía are no longer free. Many civilians are still trying to resist, which has led to terrible street fights now surging through all bigger towns and cities. She tries not to think about what that means – and which of her friends and family members she is never going to see again.

Pye had tried to get out of her office and run for the kindergarten where she had left her son a mere hour before as soon as she had seen the soldiers of the Empire march into town through the huge French window (the Western Powers had blocked all radio and TV communication), but there had been no way to get there alive, not without any weapons whatsoever. For a few seconds she had pondered risking it – for what could live hold for her with Troy gone? – but had then decided to wait. Maybe… maybe he would be lucky and survive, not be taken, somehow. Maybe she could find him and they could make it through under the new regime. Together. No matter how tiny she knew that chance was, she had decided to take it. If she should find him dead – she could still sacrifice herself.

Now that she holds the _Basúk_ in her shaking hands she is extremely glad for not having thrown her life away as she feels hope burn through her veins, hot like fire.

She knows that Troy means just as much to Crex as he means to her. If she has sent a message – he is either no longer alive, or she has taken him.

Pye hesitates. She is not sure whether she really wants to know. What if Crex has found the boy dead?

A loud explosion startles her. She throws another glance out of the window of her office, only to see more bodies covering the ground. A few of them she can clearly make out to be her former colleagues, despite missing limbs and other heavy wounds. She feels sick. The soldiers of the Empire are still occupied with fighting for the streets, but they will soon move on to clearing the buildings. She does not have much time left, and she needs to know whether to fight or to surrender. Hiding will no longer be necessary, not with Crex interfering. She can either help her people and choose death herself, or allow for herself to be caught and wait for whatever Crex is planning. Either way she is going to do what brings her closest to her son.

Hesitantly she lets her index finger run over the encrypted text on the Basúk, which turns into stiff English letters upon her touch. Her hand is shaking when she raises the stone plate, but she pulls herself together and forces herself to read the message.

_Have taken him, will pick U up ASAP_

She feels her heart drop to her boots, relief surging through her body. Obviously Crex had been in a hurry, but she definitely has gotten Troy out of here. Otherwise she would not have sent that Basúk.

Still shaking Pye lets her knees give in, sinks to the floor. She gives the message a last glance, trying to reassure herself that the meaning is really there, knowing that she does not have much time left to do so. And really, after a few seconds she watches as the stone crumbles and fine dust rills towards the floor.

She smiles tiredly.

_They_ have always been very keen on keeping everything a secret.

This is the first time she appreciates that fact. If they have Troy, no one will be able to find him. Not the troops of the Empire. Not their best agents. Not the Duagi themselves. Not even her, although she knows about the place her son will be taken to.

It also means that most likely she will not see him anytime soon.

Crex has promised to come _as soon as possible_ , but _they_ have a very distinct time perception. While she is going to stand to her promise, ‘as soon as possible’ could be any time in the next ten years.

Pye smiles. At least it means that her son is safe. And that, if she manages to survive that long, she is going to see Crex again.

She convinces herself that the latter is not the reason for her smile and forces herself to stay in the present. Then she jumps up, runs for her computer and logs into the admin account. Now finally is the time to use the password she had once been given accidentally. And while she hears the soldiers of the Empire enter the ground floor she deletes everything possible.


	2. Crex

Troy is fighting her every step of the way.

“Mommy!” he keeps crying, “Take me back to Mommy!” and “I don’t want to go with you!”

Maybe it feels like her heart is being torn into pieces, but Crex knows that feeling, and how to handle it. As long as Troy is safe… she can take everything. Even an angry “I hate you!”

Still she wishes she could cover the child’s mouth with her hand. Not only because what he is shouting hurts her, but also because their presence _needs_ to remain unknown. Normally that would not be a problem, but with her being sealed – she has to get to Tracorta by swimming. Which, by the way, is the reason for her not being able to silence the child strapped to her back. She needs both her arms to hold their heads over water and make her way through the Lorrean Sea. It is not exactly wide compared to the oceans, but huge for a swimmer trying to cross it.

Which Crex can feel only too accurately.

Her arms are heavy and aching, her legs seem to be short from falling off and her breathing is laboured. Additionally the sea is rough and angry, trying to swallow every boat and ship making its way through the high waves. It is a good thing, actually, for it protects them from being found. It just makes the journey a lot harder. Frankly, that Troy never stops fighting (well, at least it keeps him warm) does not make it any easier as well.

She wishes she could take another way, but the only other possibility to reach Tracorta would be by boat and that is not an option, not with the Empire controlling _everything_ now. The Duagi would stop her flight and have both of them killed within hours, for treason.

So, she is swimming.

As long as it gets Troy to safety she would be ready to do anything, and this is the only way Crex can think of to save him.

Maybe sometimes she thinks about giving up for a short second when she is almost swallowed by another huge wave and Troy, who gets water into his nose, is ranting in rage, but then she forces herself to keep going again. Giving up would mean losing Troy and that is just not going to happen. Besides, Pye (who has no idea how dangerous this rescue operation really is) is relying on her, and she is not going to let Pye down.

_Never_.

That is, if everything has gone right. The chances that Pye is already dead, has not gotten the message or has not read it are small, but high enough. Especially the last one mentioned. Crex remembers the way they had parted only too well (but, frankly, there are not many things about her time with Pye she does _not_ remember) and that the other woman has refused reading the Basúk is not unlikely at all.

Crex grimaces and tries not to imagine what that would mean.

Troy needs his mother and Crex will try her best to get her, but if Pye is already dead when she gets back to the Serrenía… there will be nothing she can do. So she hopes, she _prays_ (which is a little ironical, but still) that Pye will try to stay out of trouble and just let herself be… slaved. 

Crex knows the Duagi, and how they treat their subjects. Especially those who do not follow their rules. She also knows what they do to all children they can get their hands on, which is exactly why she had taken Troy out there immediately, without hesitating. She had known about the victory of the Western Powers a little earlier than everyone else – her origin can have its benefits – and taken that chance to vanish with the boy without anyone noticing. Well, maybe they had noticed, but not too much later they had been preoccupied, and very much so.

She feels really bad for not having gotten all other children out there as well, but she could not have done it and her family… would not have been allowed to help. Thus she had only taken Troy, her priorities had been very clear in that case. There had been _no way_ that she would have left the boy behind for the Duagi to train and torture, and turn into an emotionless machine: Another soldier for the Empire.

The thought alone makes her shudder, and reminds her why she took Troy first, instead of Pye. The woman is able to look out for herself, and she is no child. The Duagi will slave her and make her work in one of the camps, but they are not going to break her will, and they are not going to kill her – if she follows the rules. When Crex is ready to return to the Serrenía, Pye will – hopefully – still be there. Maybe battered and beaten, but alive. And herself. Troy, on the other hand, would not have made it through that long, had she taken Pye away first.

She has made the right decision, she knows that.

It still hurts.

Crex gulps away the fear and the bitter taste in her mouth and concentrates on swimming again.

She mobilises all strength she has left in her arms when she sees the foggy coastline of Tracorta rise out of the dark night sea. It has been more than sixteen hours since the Empire has taken over in the Serrenía, by now they will have installed every watching device they own – it is about time to get out of the water. While in the sea she can be detected, but on Tracorta they will never find her.

Finally, after hours of swimming (for once she thanks her blood, which she has cursed so often in the last years) she reaches the cliffs of the island. The stones go up almost vertically and have more sharp edges than imaginable, but are no hindrance for those who know where the few paths run.

With the elegance of someone who has done so very often Crex finally climbs up to the edge and crawls onto the empty, strictly horizontal plains. Troy is still fighting and screaming, but now no one will hear them.

She gasps for air and finally releases the child from her back, putting him down – but never letting go of his small arm.

Then she looks at the mountain in the centre of the wide island. It is the only raise in the landscape and rises into the sky completely vertically, the stone walls being absolutely smooth and offering nothing to cling to. Crex lets her gaze travel up the black stone, up to where it disappears in the clouds. The colour is getting a touch lighter with every metre, but the highest point she can see is still far away from white.

The blonde takes a deep breath and actually smiles when she thinks about the city on the peak, hidden from sight even at cloudless days – Baluè. Her home.

She enjoys the smile on her lips for a few seconds before she returns to business. Still holding the boy she kneels down, takes off her jacket. Her white t-shirt shines in the tiny ray of moonlight making it through the clouds, and she knows her light blond hair sparkles silvery. Her too pale skin will seem to be glowing from the inside, and her eyes must have taken the strange silver colour that always made Pye freak out.

She may be sealed, but being here, on her home island, her true nature breaks through none the less.

Troy is silent now, gaping at her.

She takes a last look at his face, which is without hatred for the first time since she has taken him away from his kindergarten, and up towards the still hidden city of Baluè, and then sits down to meditate – never letting go of the boy’s arm.

Quickly she has found the seal, the chains Flòriel has wound around her powers to keep them in check.

Seals are rare, but nothing unknown of. The powers of all those who spend time in the Serrenía or the Empire, all those who choose to _live_ there, are blocked by their highest. They cannot mix with the common peoples without putting themselves on their level of influence (influence on fate, as some would call it). If they want to be with them, they have to be one of them. Interfering just does not happen. Well, usually.

Smiling tiredly Crex begins to try the strength of the bonds. Her powers are not gone, just blocked, and she can feel them waiting underneath those bonds, eager to answer to her demands. It is almost like another part of her, a force that serves her and that she can communicate with. Being sealed is like living without an arm or leg or your _soul_ , but she had freely accepted that. After all it had been the condition for being with Pye, and she had gladly given that sacrifice. Even if it had meant going through the pain of the Awakening again.

She had never regretted making that decision, and she still does not. Even if that agony is waiting just around the corner.

Concentrating she begins to feel for her powers, to try and touch them through the chains.

They responds impatiently, ready to be freed – soon, now, yesterday.

Crex smiles wryly when she feels a shiver of that old strength shoot through her veins. She is one of the strongest of her people. She will be able to break the bonds, even if Flòriel has set them, and still get to Baluè afterwards. Maybe recovering will take some time… and being forgiven for breaking the rules even longer, but she is determined to take that risk. After all, what else could she do?

Without breaking the seal there is no chance to get to Baluè, and she cannot stay here. In the plains. Maybe she would have a chance to survive, to get through without anything, after all this is Tracorta, but Troy? He could not make it through the time until one of the others happens to come by without any food or water.

So, her decision is set.

Crex closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Then she orders that force inside her to attack the seal, at the same time pushing all of her willpower against it. She can feel the bonds weaken, and the pain in her bones increase accordingly.

She keeps reaching for the powers, _digging_ for them, while hot flames begin to rush through her veins, setting her body on fire. Her limbs are hurting like hell (oh, the irony), her head feels like it is going to burst any second, and, oh, her back-

This is why everyone fears the Awakening, and so few choose to let themselves be sealed. Going through the pain a second time…

It takes all her self-control to keep fighting the chains. She knows she is close, for the agony in her upper back is getting close to unbearable.

She hears herself scream, distantly, the noise mixing with Troy’s terrified cries, and there is something wet on her cheeks, probably tears, but she could not tell. She keeps going, does not allow herself to stop, not even when she feels her ribs break with a sickening noise, or the skin on her back being torn open. Blood is rushing towards her hips, pooling on the floor, and it feels like there is something inside her, something that needs to get out _now_ , for there is not enough space in her body-

She is almost there, and the pain is still getting worse, how is that even possible?, but she does not give up, keeps reaching for what belongs to her, what cannot stay locked away any longer, not now, not in this situation-

For a second the agony makes her sight go black and she almost faints, but then all the pain but that in her back is gone and instead of the white-hot flames that force she has been missing so much is rushing through her veins, already doing damage control. She will need her strength to get up to Baluè, but dying before that would make everything futile.

Troy has stopped crying.

Instead he is staring at her, gaping yet again.

And she knows why he is so taken, knows what he is seeing, while she moves the muscles in her back: Two beautiful, but battered and blooded wings spreading behind her, the silvery feathers soaked with the dark liquid.


	3. Pye

Pye does not look at the warden. She is not looking at those around her either, other women sitting in front of the numerous sowing machines. Instead she is staring at the seam in front of her, concentrated on drawing it as straight as possible.

She has been lucky she guesses. Working in the clothery, where the attire for the Duagi and their families is still sown mostly by hand and with old fashioned sowing machines, instead of the robots that produce the clothing for everyone else, is not the worst job. Of course, she is a slave, but she knows that others have gotten it much worse.

For a second she dares to let her eyes fall onto the empty chair next to hers.

It had been Veroque’s working place, until yesterday. She had been a good sower, very talented with scissors and a needle and the one who got to draw most of the drafts, but yesterday… she had tried to run.

Pye shudders, but concentrates on the dress in front of her again when she feels the eyes of the warden rest on her.

Veroque and her had shared a room in the slave quarters of the palace, and they had talked a lot. About Troy, about the black-haired woman’s twin daughters who will be probably aboulic puppets by now, about Veroque’s husband, about everything. Along with the older one’s plan to try and escape.

Pye had given her any advice she could offer, but had refused to come along.

In any other circumstances she would have taken the risk, the _chance_ , but not with knowing that Troy is waiting for her, and that Crex will come. Maybe the day the Empire took over has been more than one year ago, but Pye knows to be patient. The blonde has not once broken a promise, she will also keep this one – Pye is sure of that.

She even told Veroque about the woman who saved her son.

Once, over six years ago, she swore never to tell anyone about the existence of the Seraphim, but in one of the dark, cold nights in the slave quarters she was weak enough to brake that oath. After all, how much was it worth, now that she was a slave and alone with the one person in this mad world she dared to trust?

Veroque had listened patiently, giving Pye all the time she had needed to admit to both of them all that had happened. The way she had fallen for a woman, despite being straight as hell, and all the confusion being courted by a Seraph had brought to her. How she had slowly given in, fascinated by everything Crex was, and how they had lain together for the first (and last) time when the blonde had taken her to _Tracorta_. As taken as she had been that night, blinded by the glowing skin and the silver eyes, as _disgusted_ had she been the morning after. Crex was not human, that much had been clear, and she had ended everything she had allowed to begin only so shortly before at that instant.

She still remembers the pain in the silver eyes when she had told the Seraph to take her back to the Serrenía and to leave her alone, and for the last five years she has tried to convince herself that she had _not_ felt the same pain.

Veroque had told her differently.

Still it had taken her many nights to accept that the older woman was right. That she had always loved Crex, and that she still does. That it is Crex she is living for as much as Troy.  
Pye had been very reluctant to admit that to herself. She had cursed the Seraph to no end when she had found out that that one night had made her pregnant. With the child of an angel – a female angel, none the less. She had hated the blonde for leaving her alone during the pregnancy, despite having been the one to forbid Crex to come and see her herself. In fact she had spent so much time hating the other woman, just because she did not want to admit how much being alone still hurt, that it was really hard to allow any other emotion. Even if it was the initial one.

Veroque had been extremely understanding, talking her friend through all the chaos in her head and heart until both of them reached the final conclusion that Pye still loved Crex with everything she had.

Pye had been surprised how cool the black-haired woman had been about her loving a female, and having been pregnant from an angel. In fact the older one had just smiled sadly and said “At least you have someone who loves you, and cares for your child. Someone who has saved your son from this madness. I wish someone had taken my girls away, and if it was a demon.”

Both of them had cried that night.

Later Veroque had told the younger one about how her husband had run onto the streets, fighting the soldiers of the Empire with his personal gun. “He killed two,” she had murmured. “Then they shot a bullet through his brain. He just sacrificed himself, never thinking about me, or the girls. He knew that he had no chance to make a difference, not with a gun. But maybe he could have made one with words. Still, he was too proud to do that and sacrificed us as well.”

He had been a politician, a very important figure in the League of Nations of the Serrenía. The Duagi had talked to the talented governors, giving them the chance to work for them – and letting their families live. Even the children. They needed _some_ people who were still able to think for themselves. Veroque’s family, her twins, could have been safe.

Pye smiles sadly, finishing the last seam and putting the dress away, instead reaching for the velvet and silk that are already waiting to be sown into a pair of expensive trousers.  
Again her eyes flutter towards where Veroque should be sitting.

Before the takeover the two of them would have hated each other, coming from completely different classes. As slaves, however, they had been in the same position. With just the one difference that Pye still has hope of escaping, and Veroque had had none left.

The beautiful woman had risked everything.

And lost everything.

Pye thinks that probably she will never be able to forget the _bang_ of the gun, before the bullet had hit her friend’s head. It had been a special projectile that had prolonged the victim’s death… a lot. All of the women working in the clothery had been forced to watch as one of them had been writhing in agony. Just to know what would await them should they try to run as well.

The number of wardens has been doubled since yesterday, and the controls have been made much stricter.

Folding a flare Pye tears her thoughts away from the men searching them in the morning, before and after breakfast. The soldiers are aboulic, children having grown up in the Empire, and they have no sense of sexuality, but still she hates being touched by males where no one should be allowed to touch her without her content.

Not for the first time she wishes she would have gone onto the street and fought with her colleagues that day when the Empire had overrun their defences. They had died a lonely death, their bodies moulding on the streets, but they had missed all the terror that had followed later.

Once again Pye forbids herself to wish for that. She is not like most other women here, she will get out of this mess. She should not be wallowing in self-pity, for she has the least right to do so.

Tiredly she finishes the pair of trousers and starts on a vest, when the bell rings.

Immediately all the women put their work away, turning off the machines and queuing at the door. Pye easily finds her place amongst the others, already opening the buttons of her dress. She is the fourth one (usually she would have been fifth, after Veroque, but so much has changed since yesterday) to be searched, and when Laria is done she steps into the bare room in nothing but her underwear, letting one of the soldiers make sure she has taken nothing she is not supposed to. Something is on the air that night, a tiny sense of rebellion, but Pye ignores the deceptive whispers of a possible freedom the wind seems to be carrying, and waits for the search to be over. After barely two minutes she is done as well, putting her dress back on and making for the dining room.

She sits down between two of her colleagues she only knows by name, instead of in her place next to Veroque, and waits for dinner to be served.

It takes uncharacteristically long before all of the others have arrived, and when Nore comes last without Irgra before her everyone knows what has happened. The tiny blonde must have let herself be seduced by the dream of freedom, and her plan has been found out.

Pye spontaneously decides against eating, knowing that she is going to watch another execution tonight. The others seem to have come to the same conclusion, and all of them pay their respects to Irgra, who has dared to try and break free and will pay for it with her life.

The brunette woman (only the tips of her hair are still red, the dye having grown out) does not look at her colleagues, knowing that, were it not for Crex’ promise, she would be the next one to try.

She already senses that Veroque’s death has set the ball rolling. Who will be the one to get caught tomorrow? Nore, who has just lost her friend? Spagra, who has already lost a leg and four children, along with her husband, to the Empire? Lyae, who is crying almost every night? Crie, who tried to kill herself five months ago and not been granted death?

Nearly all the women working in the clothery have a reason to throw their lives away. In fact all but Pye do.

The woman’s smile is wry. Will all of them fall, until none are left and soldiers have to take their place? They are men, but like machines, they would not object, despite sowing being a woman’s job, at least in the Duagi’s opinion. She almost wants to laugh at the image, but the bitter sound tugging at her tongue dies down as quickly as it had wanted to break free.

Tiredly she gets up when the bell rings again and follows Laria out of the dining room, into the yard.

Irgra is already waiting there, standing next to Veroque’s body nobody has put away, her hands bound and a grim smile on her face.

The wardens wait until all of the women are watching, then one raises the gun.

Irgra spits onto the floor in front of him. “Fuck you, bastards” she growls, saying what all of them have wanted to say for one year, and awaits the bullet with her face distorted to an angry grimace – but peace in her eyes.

Just when the sound of the shot breaks through the silence in the yard and all the wardens are looking at Irgra with a rare show of emotion – grim satisfaction, one of the few things they are bred to feel – Pye feels something tug at her collar and then she is being pulled up. For a second she wants to cry, partly out of surprise, partly out of fear, when pale, delicate fingers find their way across her mouth.


	4. Pye

Pye stills immediately, thinking her heart stops, and a moment later they are shooting upwards, accelerating much like her heart rate, towards the clouds.

The sun is already setting, and Crex’ arms are like iron around her torso, one leg slung around Pye’s thighs. They are flying just beneath the clouds, where there is still enough air for Pye but people happening to look up will think them to be birds, and Pye enjoys being carried by those beautiful wings once again.

She remembers the last time perfectly well – they had just met each other, and Crex had saved her from being run over by a train. It had been the day before the Seraph’s power had been sealed, in order to allow her to stay in the Serrenía. With Pye.

The last time she had been too scared to look down, now she is staring at what the Empire has done to their beautiful countries.

She is shocked.

“I’m sorry,” she hears the blonde whisper into her ear. “I wish I could have done something. I wish I could have come for you earlier. I wish… I wish you wouldn’t have had to go through all this.”

Pye instinctively reaches for one of the arms slung around her torso, finding a pale hand and squeezing it. “I know,” she murmurs. “I wish I hadn’t sent you away.”

She can almost feel the smile on the beautiful face behind her, but then something else comes through… resignation? Along with determination? And a deep sadness… The Seraph had always radiated off her emotions in a way that made them almost palpable for Pye, just like all of her race do. Thus she does not doubt that what she is receiving is what Crex is really feeling. She just does not understand it, though. Why resignation? Why _sadness_?

Then she looks down again and makes out the shores and the Lorrean Sea on the horizon.

Crex seems to have seen it too, for she accelerates a little with a few powerful wing beats and then lets their bodies glide through the air, the wind blowing onto the mainland carrying them.

However, as soon as they reach the shore she has to fly actively against the air currents and when Pye finally sees _Tracorta_ take shape in the mist floating above the waves the Seraph is already breathing heavily. _Too_ heavily, if one were to ask Pye.

Then Crex makes that one manoeuvre she has told the other about so often, the one that will get them up and past the clouds, to _Baluè_ : She tugs in her wings and lets herself fall down towards the ground, trying to gain as much speed as possible, until she spreads out her wings again but half a metre above the plains and they shoot upwards.

For a few seconds Pye thinks she has to throw up, but then she is too fascinated by the slowly lightening colour of the stone wall they are rushing up next to. She looks towards the sky, but all she can see is fog – until they break through the clouds and suddenly everything is shining in the light of the sun. The mountain is no longer rising up completely vertically, but a little overhanging, and Crex has to fly actively again. The colour of the stone is slowly changing to white and the overhang is getting stronger, until they are flying horizontally instead of vertically. The light of the setting sun is gone now, since they are flying in the shadow of _Baluè_ , but suddenly the heat and the light are back and, after only a few more metres upwards a beautiful, impressive city appears in front of their eyes.

Just that Pye cannot enjoy the view, for they are tumbling towards the white stone floor, Crex’ breathing much too laboured.

Pye hears someone yell something, but she does not think about it, for she is landing on top of the Seraph, who has twisted them around and broken the fall. For a second all air is pressed from her lungs, but when she manages to breathe again she rolls down, away from the blonde’s body, and turns around.

For the second time that day her heart almost stops.

Crex is not moving.

Her eyes are closed and she is still breathing, audibly, but it sounds terrible. And there is a tear running down her cheek. A single silver drop, but still – Pye knows that Seraphim do not cry, only to say goodbye. What-

“Out of the way!” a harsh voice tears her from her thoughts and then another Seraph is kneeling next to Crex, her fingers glowing in a silver light and two more are already lifting the body. They carry her away before Pye can say a word and she is left standing there, alone, with the one she loves – and the only one she knows here in _Baluè_ – gone, obviously hurt gravely.

“Come,” a soft voice says behind her.

She wheels around, staring at a beautiful woman. The glow of her skin is much brighter than that of Crex, and she is holding herself in a way that says a lot about her position in the Seraphim community.

“My name is Flòriel,” the Seraph smiles, extending a hand. “Come. Follow me.”

Hesitantly Pye takes the hand, lets herself be pulled away, into the confusing maze of white alleys and squares. She cocks her head, desperately trying to think about something else than her hurt friend. “You… don’t look like someone with a three-syllable-name,” she shyly offers, not knowing if she has gone too far.

Flòriel laughs, a sound like a thousand tiny silver bells; light and clear. “I see she has told you about our names. Has she also told you her full name?” She seems to be amused.  
Pye nods, slowly. “I cannot pronounce it, though,” she admits.

“Well,” Flòriel chuckles, “our language is hard to learn for anyone who has not grown up with it. And, as I have to admit, Crêxíbachel is not one of the easiest names. Nor is it one of the shortest.”

“Of course not!” Pye protests. “She is not exactly one of the weakest, either!”

Flòriel laughs softly. “True. Crêxel, like she was called before she earned herself the other two syllables, is one of our most powerful warriors. There is not much she cannot take – all the more I am worried by her being injured like that. But let us not talk about it, Kõnel is looking after her, she could not be in better hands.”

“Kõnel?” Pye asks, quietly. “She is your best… healer?” With only a two-syllable-name?

The Seraph smiles. “Crêxel has not told you about our way of calling others by the name they were born by then, has she? Many never earn another syllable, only very few ever receive more than one. Those who do, however, often have names way too long for using them in everyday life. You also have shortened nicknames for your friend and family, don’t you? And you are calling Crêxel by the name of Crex – it is just the same here, really. We do not want to say Kõndapikùriel every time, and since we have to use Kõnel’s name rather often… we call her by the name she was born with.”

Pye quickly counts the syllable in her head. Six, and the ending ‘iel’ marks her out as the head of her department. Healers, in this case. She nods. Six is fine, great even. Crex has a four-syllable-name, which is already very impressive, but she wants to know her Seraph to be cared for in the best way possible.

Power – and the according names – do not come easily to Seraphim. Only those who have spent thousands upon thousands of years training, never taking a break or giving up, only those ever make it to three syllables. Being powerful does not depend on predisposition for these people, or aptitude, or special talents – but on willpower and endurance alone. They are all born with the same opportunities and abilities.

“I understand… I guess. But… what is your real name then? You must have been born to the name of Flòrel, but you call yourself Flòriel. Why?”

Flòriel’s smile widens playfully. “My whole name would be Flòrigrâtubúnchaklëriel, but that is a little long, don’t you think so?”

Again Pye does a quick count. Nine. She feels a little dizzy. “You… you are the High Lady,” she coughs. “That is why you keep the ‘iel’ in your name. I am sorry, Milady!”

The powerful Seraph rolls her eyes. “Stop that Milady-nonsense. Keep calling me Flòriel, will you, please? We will spend a lot of time together in the next weeks, I suppose, for I worry for Crêxel much as you do, and I have offered to take you around and explain everything to you. You are the first human to live in Baluè in more than three thousand years… apart from your son, of course, but he is half-Seraph anyway. You, however… it kind of is a big deal. I have to make sure your needs are taken care of, which is not all that easy.”

Pye is incredibly relieved. “So… I can stay here?”

“At all events. Crêxel has taken you here to make sure you are safe – she is not going to let you return to where she has saved you from. And even if she should… not make it through” Flòriel is not looking at her “you are not to leave. We will not let our sister’s death be in vain, especially not with your son being one of us.”

The woman smiles. “Thank you,” she answers honestly. “I… still have a question, though. Crex… Crêxel cannot be the only one who has chosen a human to be her… partner, right?”

This time Flòriel’s smile is sad. “No. There is… was… also Mabígel, but she was rejected… only a few weeks ago. And Twôrel, of course. She is sealed and lives with her spouse in the Empire. Lysa, maybe you have heard of her – she is the daughter of one of the Duagi. Her family does not know about Twôrel being a Seraph, and both of them suffer from what her father and his two partners are doing, but you cannot choose your family much like you cannot choose who you fall for. Actually they are quite lucky that Lysa’s father has accepted that she is with another woman. Twôrel tries to intervene as much as possible, but there is little she can do. She was Crêxel’s contact in the Empire, in case you wondered how she knew about the takeover soon enough to get Troy out – she is also responsible for you being sent to work at the clothery.”

Pye gulps. “Could you… give her my thanks?”

“Of course.” Flòriel is still smiling. They finally stop in front of one of the beautiful, fragile houses, and the Seraph opens the white door. “After you,” she prompts, and Pye peeks into the room.

A second later she has cried out Troy’s name and is running towards the table where he is sitting, and the boy jumps to his feet, staring at her with wide eyes.

“M-Mum?”

Her smile is huge and she feels tears burn in her eyes. “Yes, darling,” she answers softly. “It is me.”

Troy flings her arms around her shoulders and she closes her own around his still small but yet taller (than he was a year ago, anyway) body, holding him close. He hides his face in her shoulder and she feels a shiver go through his body, before her dress grows wet.

Pye gives Flòriel a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she whispers.

The Seraph’s eyes are sad. “It is not me you should thank for this.”


	5. Pye

Pye stares at the person in front of her, unmoving.

It is Crex, unmistakably, but the state she is in – the woman shivers.

Although she is still unearthly beautiful her body is not glowing as strong as it should be and her hair is dull and lacklustre. She is floating in the room, held by tiny silver strings of Kõnel’s powers, and her wings are spread out.

Even from her position outside the transparent door Pye can see the spots where they are broken, looking just not right. She tries not to think about what she knows broken wings mean for Seraphim, or the sadness in Flòriel’s eyes when she told her how serious the warrior’s injuries really are. Crex once spoke to Pye of the _Awakening_ of the powers of her kind, of the pain that comes with the wings breaking through. She shudders, remembering that the young Seraph is not allowed to use her wings at all for at least a year, and has to stay in _Baluè_ for three more. Otherwise the strain is too high, the risk not acceptable.

Breaking a seal – is worse. It comes with even more pain, and it takes much longer to recover. Just imagining that Crex has left to get her out after only one year… Pye feels vaguely sick.

And guilty.

It is eating her up, but there is nothing she can do now – not with Crex being unconscious, and already under care of the best healer alive.

So, she drags herself on.

Days turn into weeks and Crex’ condition is unchanged, so Pye does the only thing she can do:

She clings to Troy.

In fact, she barely lets go of his hand in the hours they spend together – the time during which he is no being taught by other Seraphim. She holds onto him, because they have not seen each other for so long, and because he is _her_ son, and because it is all she can do.

She clings to his small hand and she knows, she will not let go any time soon, she _cannot_ let go. She has kept living for him and Crex while working in the clothery, and now that Crex is so gravely injured…

She sees it in Flòriel’s eyes.

The High Lady seems to be forcefully optimistic – hoping against all odds.

Because that is what they do, who they _are_ , right?

Seraphim.

_Angels_.

They are not God’s envoys, like their name suggests, as Crex had told her once, so, strictly speaking, the term ‘angel’ is incorrect – ἄγγελος. Messenger.

However, despite them being so different from what the bible says about them, or folk belief – some things are true. “There is some truth in every legend,” Crex had reminded her all those years ago. “After all, most of those legends are too crazy and too rich in detail to have just been thought up. Besides, quite often very different peoples tell the same stories. They must have gotten them from somewhere.”

“From where?” Pye had asked, eyebrows raised.

Crex had smirked. “Us.”

“ _You_?”

“Of course. Who do you think has lived long enough to see all those things, and tell about them? Some of us have told our partners or a human friend, and maybe they have told their children, and grandchildren, and so on – of course, many details change over the years, but the main content stays the same. Which is mostly said truth in the legend. At least partly.”

Pye had thought about it, and grinned. “So…” she had drawled, eyeing the other woman “if there is some truth in every legend… tell me about vampires.” She had not been serious.  
The look Crex had given her as an answer – her face must have been priceless.

“Of course. They existed – once. Very long ago. They have been… _extinct_ for thousands of years.”

Extinct.

Well. Apparently, as Pye had learned that day, most ‘legendary creatures’ had lived on this planet at one time or another, this planet so infinitely much older than the humans populating it at that time. They had appeared and vanished again, just like the dinosaurs. Just like the humans would one day.

The only ones who had lived through countless lifetimes, who had survived everything and everyone in their beautiful white city, who are as old as the liquid stone in the Earth’s core, who still remember all those lost friends and enemies – are the Seraphim.

Maybe that is why the serious look in Flòriel’s eyes scares Pye that much.

After all, there are not many things a Seraph would be afraid of, except for losing a loved one.

A partner, or a sister.

_Sisters_ , Pye thinks, trying to tear her thoughts away from the missing glow that should be radiating from Crex’ skin.

Instead she forces herself to think about all the things she knows about the Seraphim by now, everything she was told all those years ago by Crex, or in the last weeks by Flòriel. Flòriel, who is looking after her.

She has already been here, in _Baluè_ , for quite some time now, and with every day that passes, every day that Crex does not wake up – she loses hope.

So, she tries to distract herself. And let herself be distracted (which is not all that easy). Whenever Troy is not with her or not able to do that, she does her best to sum up everything she knows about that _species_ that is so foreign to her, and yet so fascinating. So beautiful.

That she sees in her son’s face every day.

Now that he is on Seraphim’s territory it is unmistakable that his other mother is not human. While not as strong as in pure Seraphim the most conspicuous characteristics keep hitting her time and again. His former already grey irises are clearly silver now, and the glow is hovering over his skin like mist over a lake. His hair, which had looked brown in the Serrenía, is blond here, and he has let it grow the last year.

And his emotions? They are as clear to her as they have always been.

Tiredly Pye remembers how a year ago she would have hated it, those characteristics, in her _son_. She would have hated seeing all those _outlandishness_ that had made her freak out and drive Crex away so long ago.

Now, however – it does not bother her any longer.

In fact, she is glad.

Glad, because Troy will never leave this place. Not before his _Awakening_ has come, at least, and afterwards… well. She will have to hope for the best.

The Seraph-genes are strong in him, as in any half-blood, strong enough to give him those _angelic_ powers that all of his ‘kind’ inherit.

The genes always brake through.

After all, there are only a rather small number of Seraphim – little more than 10,000 – and all of them are female, except those born by one human mother. And while all are able to carry children, only very few can father them. Only very few have the _power_ to do so.

Those with four-syllable-names, or more.

Even those Seraphim who chose humans as their partners – not many choose men.

However, children of half-human-half-Seraph-pairs are always male.

Still.

The chance for those half-bloods to make it through the _Awakening_ , which turns them into full blood Seraphim, is minuscule. (Pye tries not to think about that, either.)  
There are less than a hundred men living in _Baluè_ , and most of them have chosen another former half-blood as their partner.

So, that barely increases the birth rate. Especially since pregnancies are already extremely rare in themselves. That Crex knocked her up that one night they had lain together – it is kind of a miracle.

And Pye _prays_ (to whatever powers might be, powers that even the Seraphim do not know) that Troy will make it through the _Awakening_. That he will live to enjoy all of _Baluè’s_ beauties, along with the love his kind shares.

She had not wanted to believe it, back then, when she had still been so very scared of Crex’ nature, but Veroque had helped her accept it, the way she had accepted her own love for the beautiful woman.

Seraphim only love once, once and forever – the second they have chosen their partner there is no way out, and no one else they will ever want. And if their chosen one reciprocates, they bind themselves to the other. Literally. There is a ceremony, ancient and beautiful, after which their hearts will beat as one. A ceremony even human partners are allowed to take part in, and which cannot be reversed in anyway.

If one partner dies, the other follows in the same heartbeat.

Only very few Seraphim survive their chosen ones – if the other dies before the ceremony has taken place, their hearts will keep beating. They will be empty, though.

There is no way to ever love another.

It is painful and cruel and beautiful.

There are other downsides to it than death, though.

One thing a Seraph cannot take is rejection. It will lead to more than plain heartbreak, and end in a procedure that basically equals a reversed _Awakening_ – their powers will be ripped from them.

And there is no way to survive that.

Only if a seal was in place – only then – the rejected Seraph may survive the rejection. _Maybe_.

Pye gulps heavily and tries her best to think about something else.


	6. Pye

Once again she is standing in front of that door, staring through the glass window.

Crex’ eyes are still closed, the glow is still gone and the bones in her wings have not grown back together in all those weeks. She has given up so much of her power, enough that they could break in the first place – it has been _too_ much.

This time Kõnel is there as well, her hands hovering inches above one of the fractures, and a soft silver glow sinks deep into the bones.

Still, nothing happens.

Pye forcefully tears her eyes away from the sight, trying to fight back the tears that are threatening to spill.

The hand on her shoulder startles her.

“Don’t,” Flòriel whispers softly, leading her away gently but determinedly. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Pye gives her a desperate look. “How can I not?” she asks, still fighting against the tears. “It is my fault.”

Flòriel stops dead. “Why would it be?!” she demands to know.

Pye does not dare to look at her now. The guilt is still there, and it is strong. “I sent her away,” she simply states. _I rejected her_.

“So what? If you had not – what would have happened then? Her powers would still have been sealed. She would still have tried to get Troy out of there the second she received Twôrel’s Basúk. She would still have come back for you much too early.”

“No,” Pye shakes her head. “I know her. She-”

“I know her, too,” she is interrupted then, and Flòriel’s eyes are too sad once more. “I have known her for more than 7,000,000 years.”

“Yes, you know her. As a Seraph. But you do not know her as the person who chose me as her partner. You do not know how much she has given up for me so willingly, and what I have done to her. You do not know what loving me has cost her.”

Silence.

“No,” Flòriel finally agrees, whispering. “You are right. I do not know her as the person who has chosen you. However, I _do_ know what she has given up for you. And I do know that you were worth it.” There is a deep sadness in her ancient eyes. Pye dares not ask.

The unspoken question is answered anyway. “I chose a… _humanoid_ woman many thousands of years ago. Her kind was quite similar to yours, at least in appearance and abilities. However, being with someone of the same sex… just did not happen in her society. She did not really reject me, she sent me away, just like you did with Crêxel – but I knew that, deep down, she loved me. Like Crêxel knew. So, I kept courting her. Carefully, slowly. I tried to show her ways in which we could be together. At least as friends. I almost… she was giving in. However, she was a warrior.” The Seraph gulps and it takes her a few minutes to continue speaking. “She went into battle and never came back. We had not been bonded, so… I survived. I have lived many lifetimes without her now. But… I never regretted loving her, and everything that I gave up for her – I would give it up all over again. Gladly. She was worth it.”

Again there is silence.

“I am sorry,” Pye says in the end, honestly.

Flòriel’s smile is sad. “Do not be,” she says. “Not for me. There is no reason to feel sorry for me, not when you yourself carry so much sorrow.” She sighs. “Do you understand now? Why it is not your fault?”

Pye averts her gaze. “I still sent her away,” she whispers. “I… maybe it was not a rejection. Maybe she _did_ know I loved her none the less, and maybe she kept living for Troy, whatever it was – I made her weak. Because of me, and my inability to admit my own emotions to myself, she suffered. Because of me she let you seal her power, because of me she had to break the seal twice. And because of me she was already weak when she did it. Because I _weakened_ her.”

“It was not your fault. Maybe she was not as strong as she could have been in body, but her love for you would have strengthened her in soul – and she knew her abilities.”

Pye feels sick again. “Yes,” she immediately agrees. “Yes, she did.” And then she loses the fight against those tears. “She did, and she knew that she would not make it through.”

“Excuse me?”

“She… when she came to get me out of there? I took her hand, showing her that I was no longer… convinced I hated her.” She gulps. “She understood. And she felt… resigned. Determined, and resigned, and incredibly sad.” It is, finally, too much. “I could _feel_ it!” she screams, tears streaming down her face. “I could _feel_ that she _knew_ she would not make it! That it was too late, that she had made a choice she would not survive, believing that I did not _want_ her to live for me! I _felt_ it!”

Suddenly there are strong arms, wrapping around her shaking shoulders.

For all that Flòriel looks rather fragile she carries a strength many human men could never reach.

“I know,” she whispers, soothing fingers running through Pye’s long hair. “I know. Shinel felt it too. Crêxel and you almost crashed into her when you fell, so she was close enough to catch her last emotions before Crêxel lost consciousness. There was a heavy sense of regret, she later told me, and the sadness you already mentioned, but there was something else as well.” Fine hands on her shoulders turn her to face the beautiful Seraph, forcing her to look into two pools of silver. “Shinel also felt peace, in the knowledge that she gave her life for you and your son.”

Flinching, Pye jerks away from the blonde’s comforting grip.

“Did she-”

Flòriel shakes her head, the sad smile back on her lips. “Her condition has not changed. But the chances that she will wake up again… are infinitesimal. There is hope, of course – there is always hope, as long as she keeps breathing. But I doubt- …”

She does not finish the sentence, but Pye does not need her to.

 _Yes_ , she thinks desperately, _I know. Both of us doubt that she will ever wake up._

Tiredly she remembers the deep peace in Irgra’s eyes, before the wardens had fired the shot, before Crex had come to save her.

Peace in the knowledge that she died with her head held high, and that death would be better than what this life held for her.

Pye trusts that Crex did not give up on life, not with the emotions she projected during the flight.

_She also felt peace, in the knowledge that she gave her life for you and your son._

Yes, Crex would have found peace in that knowledge, and Pye feels a sense of peace settle over her own heart when she realizes that. The agony will always be there, no doubt, and her hope will never die, but she will _live_ , knowing that the women she loved gave her own life so that she might.

 

And when the years pass, when Troy grows taller and stronger, and Pye grows older and weaker, and Crex’ eyes stay closed, and her wings stay broken – she never gives up, just like she promised herself when she finally understood.


End file.
